


Your Kindness Helped Me Feel Safe Again

by JForward



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, De-realisation, Gen, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post-Prison, Showers, So soft you guys, abuse of punctuation to signify accents, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JForward/pseuds/JForward
Summary: She's free. She's finally free. The fam is waiting. The shell that was once The Doctor finds herself seeking something she can't even place.She finds Grace O'brien.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	Your Kindness Helped Me Feel Safe Again

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh... those promo images, huh?

  
Sunsets. Sunrises. The changing of a sky from deep darkness to pink, streaked with gold, to vibrant blue, concealed by the deep grey bruising of rain, it was all so unbelievably beautiful. So easy to envision now, the sun crawling on it's journey. Light and life. Something she never could have truly envisioned; just how precious that was. A breeze, with the sharp sprinkles of water that cut to the core, especially with how much weight had slipped from her. And it was the best thing that she'd ever felt, arms spreading wide. Fabric shifted, thick and unyielding, preventing her from feeling more.

Reaching down, bloodied nails tugged, ripping back hard - the feel of rough fabric against her skin unpleasant. But the stitches popped, and then her arm was bare, and she could feel it all - the wind, the rain, deep lungfuls of cold and refreshing and just - perfect. Oh, it was so perfect. Her feet kept moving, knowing she was close. Time had slipped by so easily. The sun had become almost an enemy, the immense rock which had enclosed her sometimes blinded and burningly unpleasant. And yet she had welcomed that, the heat and the sweat and the discomfort, because it was something different from the never-ending monotony.

She gulped the world down like water, but there was something so much brighter she sought. When the flash of blue caught in her vision, the Doctor lurched forward, a hand reaching out even though she was a clear fifty feet away. The torn material flapped, smacking against her as she stumbled on. A run, almost, on shaky weak legs from so long in isolation, but she could manage it. For this. Too weak to stop, crashing hard into the side, wood that wasn't wood. Blue, so blue, bluer than any sky or lake or sapphire. Tears flooded down her face, silently, pressing her cheek into it's oh so familiar warmth. _Home_ , it whispered, and she finally let out a shaky sob.

"I've missed you." voice croaking from lack of use, unable to help the smile. So long since she'd smiled. It felt unnatural, twisting her face, but she clung closer. When she could finally peel herself from the door, she pressed in, feeling how eagerly it opened. The console hummed, glowing brighter, shifting from white to a warm, buttery yellow, down to a deep orange. The low light was nicer to her eyes, and of course - it made her feel even more welcome. Shaky legs carried her to the console, hands drifting over each panel, button, lever. Home was here.

The floor seemed to rise up as her weak legs gave in. She adjusted, slowly, resting her shoulders against the edge. Eyes shut, breathing deep of familiar air. Outside was glorious, but the TARDIS felt like a welcome.

When she could finally move, she stood slowly. Procrastinated as she slowly paced her way around the console. Hesitated as she reached out to set a time.  
"I need a shower." she finally whispered. Turning away, she slipped into the corridor, opening the door to a bathroom. For a moment, she glanced into the mirror - and looked away, throat bobbing. No. She couldn't see it. It was almost enough to burn. But she drew closer, sneaking peeks until she could finally address herself.

Sharper in the cheekbones. Bruises along one cheek. Her hair, lank and greasy, clinging unpleasantly to her head. It hadn't grown much, really, but it still felt - wrong. She reached out to turn a tap - looking at her hands. The nails worn away, bloody fingertips, scabbed and scratched from where she had clawed each day into the walls. She took another deep breath, then noticed - a razor. The electric kind, sitting on the side. Her eyes lifted to the mirror again before she reached up, running her filthy hands through her slimy hair.

"Yes." she breathed. "Yes, thank you, this ... " she picked up the razor and switched it on. It buzzed softly as she reached it up, meeting her own eyes and nodding. It slid easily across, showering the ground in blonde-brunette strands. She moved carefully. One side got shorter and shorter, until it was nothing but short fuzz. The back was more difficult, but she was fairly sure the angle was right. Then she flipped it over, so greasy it was hard to move, revealing the other side. Holding strands out, she began to hack at the long hair, shortening but not removing it. When it was done, she took her hand away, looking at the clippings scattered everywhere.

It felt better. Weight gone, she considered the rough undercut she had given herself, and then nodded. Good. This was ... this was good. Next she shedded the jumpsuit, no longer willing to look at herself, seeing her old clothes were laid out - but her hands stopped. No. She found some soft sweats in a drawer, the grey trousers and white tee feeling - infinitely comfortable. Taking a few moments to hold herself together, the Doctor realised she had never felt less like herself. She still needed to shower, but the idea of seeing that foul red jumpsuit again - no. No. She walked away, back to the console room, staring at the co ordinates.

The fam. Waiting for her. Convinced she was dead. Yes. She had to go back. Her hand shook as she reached out and threw the lever. The first jolt of the TARDIS almost threw her over as she began to throw her controls, smacking buttons, twisting dials. Already she felt exhausted in a way she couldn't quantify, but she was going back to her fam. And that - that was good.

The TARDIS whined and scraped as it flew, almost chucking her over a few times, barely hanging on by her sore, almost-numb hands on the edge. She should've felt relief. Instead, it was as if her belly was full of Cresinda Serpents, twisting and squirming and burning. Why did seeing the Fam fill her with almost terror? Her mind went to what she had seen in the mirror. A broken shell of the person she used to be, perhaps. Her throat bobbed and she opened the door, determined to face the world as the Doctor should.

But the street she stepped onto felt wrong. Sheffield. Definitely Sheffield, but not where she had dropped the Fam off last. She took a few steps, pausing to lean against the nearby lamppost. Deep breaths, fighting off the weakness and exhaustion. Her eyes shut for just a moment, not wanting to see anything that her mind might throw at her, just a moment -   
"You alright, love? Do you need to sit down?" that voice, that oh so familiar voice - she tried to turn, too sharply, the world canting sideways and then she was being supported by someone warm and -

"Here, love, here, bench isn't far." she was so solid and real. It was almost impossible to believe. Lowered carefully onto a wooden bench, she stared at her hands in her lap, as a face swum into view. She was crouching, peering into the Doctor's face, eyes wide and concerned.   
"Bad night? Don't worry, love, I'm a nurse, you're not in any trouble..." careful eyes were taking it all in. The sallow cheeks, the bruises. Dark hands took ahold of paper-pale ones, turning them, looking at the blood and scrapes and the damage. "You look like you've been through a bad time." she was moving back now, shrugging out of her coat.

"Here." the heavy fabric was draped over tiny shoulders, smelling of ginger and a flowery detergent that was surprisingly pleasant. "Awfully cold to be out without a jacket. How did you end up like this?" Grace glanced around herself, as if looking for someone. She then leant in, voice softer, careful. "Are you running away from someone? Did someone do this to you? I can help..."  
"No." her voice came out a croak. "No, I - I did this." the hands stilled. So warm, almost uncomfortably so, but she liked it.   
"Do you need help?" Grace's voice was more insistent now. "If you're hurting yourself, love, there's no shame, I promise -"

Her throat felt so dry. She couldn't seem to find the words, her brains failing her, and she swallowed hard. Instead she settled for a tiny shake.  
"Are y'runnin' away?"  
That got a tiny nod. Close enough to the truth. Grace frowned, clearly thinking about it.  
"Would y'come with me? T'my house?" she questioned. "Get y'cleaned up, get your hands sorted out. Have some lunch? Then you can go, or we can get you some help. Would that work for you, love? No one else will be there, just you and me. Promise."

Her hearts twisted and her throat felt like sandpaper. She should say no. Oh, this was - this was beyond idiocy. But the warm coat, even if she didn't need it, and those hands so gently encasing hers, maybe she could do this. So she stood, and Grace stood.   
There was a soft stream of chatter as they moved. Whilst her usually endless mouth had gone quiet, she found herself appreciating it. Nothing that needed more than a hum or an occasional nod; talking about the weather, about the decorations someone had up - it was near Christmas. She tried to offer the coat back, but Grace refused, insisting she as fine.

And perhaps her hearts felt a little warmer, as well as her shoulders. The door opened, and she swallowed hard. There was the chair she had broken, had yet to break. Her eyes lingered on the signs of Graham, wondering, but -   
"My husband's not here." she said, quickly, "He's away for a few days. Honestly, barely been married six months and he takes a holiday without me! Cheeky sod."   
The Doctor smiled, unable to help herself.   
"You want tea, love? Or would you prefer a coffee?"  
"Tea - please." she whispered. "Five sugars."  
"Five?" there was a slight hint of disbelief in her tone. "Y'sure, love?"  
"I like sugar." she responded, a little louder, even if her voice was still shaky. 

A minute or two later, she found herself sat on the edge of the sofa, hands wrapped around a warm mug. The smell felt like it was healing something deep inside her, more than anything else.   
They sipped in silence for a few minutes, Grace reclining but giving her space. The Doctor took a few, shaky sips, her stomach aching unpleasantly at something that wasn't nutrient blocks or recycled water. It was the best thing she'd ever tasted.

"So," Grace finally spoke, leaning forward and gently putting her tea on the table. She looked in the Doctor's direction but didn't force eye contact, her features drawn and a little worried. "Y'don't have to tell me anything, love. But I think you're best off getting clean." she got up to her feet, "Come on." her tone was still gentle, but it was most definitely an unshakable command. She got to her feet, following up the stairs. Grace was digging in a cupboard, emerging with a thick white towel. "Door on the right there, love. Use any soaps y'want." she smiled, "Turn it to the right for the hot. It'll take a bit to heat up, so run it as long as you need. I'm right downstairs - just shout if you need me."

The Doctor accepted the towel mutely, stepping into the space, shutting the door behind her. It was so easy to see Grace in this room - the frog jar which held the toothbrushes, the patterns on the towel hanging up, the various perfumes sitting on the side... it was so strange. She hadn't been in this room before, admittedly, but when she had been in their home the light of Grace had always been snuffed. And yet this room felt better than her own bathroom.

She took her time, filling the room with steam, cleansing her hair with something fruity that seemed to be the right thing and then cleaning herself with something minty. She scrubbed at the dirt on her hands, inadvertently opening up a few old tears in the skin, but it looked better. The towel was immense, and she took her time, finally sliding back into her clothes and padding out with the fabric draped over her shoulders. It was strange, the weight of her rough haircut sitting so differently, but she found herself liking having a breeze on her neck.

"There y'are, love." Grace smiled, "Do you want me to reheat your tea?"  
She shook her head, sipping at her cold tea. Nothing wrong with cold tea.  
"Alright, d'you mind if I take a look at your hands?" she asked, "Or did you want some food? Anything's fine, love."   
"Uh..." the options felt almost overwhelming, for a breath. After so long unable to make any choices for herself, being asked so much at once -

"Sit down, love." she sat, automatically. "Alright. Let's see those hands." she held out one of her own, and the Doctor reached out. She was so gentle as she looked over the injuries and scrapes.  
"Did you lose a fight with a wall?" Grace asked, frowning, before picking up a bottle of ointment. "This shouldn't sting too much, love, but it'll help them heal." she was so gentle that the Doctor didn't have the heart to tell her that it wouldn't help. She carefully cleaned up both of the Doctor's hands, then put on the TV quietly. They sat quietly, the Doctor sipping her tea. 

When the mug was empty, she held it for some time. The television - some cooking show, doing butter scallops or something similar - was a nice background distraction. The air was warm, and slightly spicy. She felt - safe. And it was almost frightening, feeling safe, after so long in danger. The presenters droned on, and Grace was doing a crossword in the paper, and the sofa was very much comfortable.

_When she stirred, the house was dark. She was laid out, with the heavy, warm, slightly scratchy blanket from the back of the sofa draped over her. On the table next to her was a glass of water, and a note. She peered at it, eyes seeing well enough in the dark -_   
_"I've gone up to bed. Knock if you need anything._   
_Help yourself to anything in the fridge._   
_\- Grace."_

She smiled, despite herself. Moving with cat-paw quiet, she folded the blanket back over the couch. Picking up the pen on the table, she turned the note over. The pen tapped her lip, not knowing what to say, what she could even begin to say to this woman. Finally, she scrawled something. Listening intently until she heard soft snores upstairs, she slid to the door. An easy enough latch to turn, almost silent, she hesitated in the doorway a moment before slipping away. Her hearts felt warm.

The outside world was so quiet and still. Barely a leaf rustled. She breathed in the deep, cool, sweet night air and headed back towards her ever sturdy blue box. The stars in the sky twinkled that everything would be okay, and she knew that the Fam were waiting. 


End file.
